A Death in the Night
by Bob the Quiet
Summary: Two years after the events of Blood Money, the silent assassin is back to work.UPDATE: Chapter 3 is up
1. Chapter 1 the Contract

**A Death in the Night**

Chapter I – the Contract

Agent 47 was looking at himself in the mirror. A white jacket and pants, as well as a white button-up shirt and undershirt with shiny black shoes and a red tie adorned his muscular, highly conditioned body. It was the same suit he had worn just two years ago at his own funeral. He hadn't picked it out, of course, though he had kept it after killing all those foolish enough to attend his funeral…except for Diana, but that was a problem that had sorted itself out. 47 was confident that the Franchise was gone and that Diana had merely done what she could to keep 47 alive. That he returned to life in the middle of his own funeral testified to that fact.

He had decided to keep the suit. Usually he still wore his signature black suit with a stripped white shirt, but sometimes he chose to wear his new white suit. Mostly he would put it on only to stare at himself in the mirror, as a reminder that he too was able to die. The thought often crept into his cold, calculating mind that perhaps the suit was instead a sign that he was invulnerable to death, that having escaped death in such an impossible situation that he could surely escape death in other, even more dangerous, situations. He quickly forced those thoughts aside, dismissing them as irrational.

Stepping to the right he began unbuttoning the jacket. He folded it neatly and set it carefully into a compartment of his brief-case. The rest of the suit followed, and he put his usual suit back on.

He heard a knock at the door and slipped a Silverballer out of the holster under his jacket. Quietly he walked up to the door and looked through the peep-hole. The individual standing on the other side of the door was wearing a black shirt with some sort of red and white emblem on the left breast; a black hat he was wearing appeared to carry the same emblem. Faintly he could detect the scent of cheese and sausage.

"Just the pizza-boy," he sighed as he slipped the pistol back into its holster and fished a wad of cash out of his pocket. He opened the door and when the deliverer handed the pizza over, 47 set it on a nearby table. He gave the man eighteen dollars to cover the cost of the pizza and his tip. Tipping the man who brings you food was not only a good 'moral' thing to do, but it also made practical sense. A pizza-boy with a decent-sized tip would be less inclined to give out information about you to your enemies.

Normally he wouldn't eat pizza, he preferred finer foods. Unfortunately, although he had plenty of money to spare – though most of that went towards new killing-devices – he couldn't afford to eat out at an actual restaurant. It would attract too much unwanted attention. The FBI didn't like their directors being killed at the funerals of missing assassins. And, frankly, 47 didn't like wearing a disguise all the time. He thought about leaving the country, but it would be difficult to find a place where an angered FBI couldn't find him. He sat down and tried to enjoy the greasy pizza as best he could, though after months of eating pizza and other 'common' foods like it, 47 found he was actually developing a taste for it.

Half an hour later he was sitting at the only table in his small abode, cleaning his signature Silverballer .45 ACP pistols when the small laptop on the table's corner gave out a quite, though audible, chirp. 47 glanced over and saw that he had received a message from the Agency. The assassin put his weapons in their holsters and pulled the small computer over so that it would be sitting in front of him. He punched in a password. A large image of a middle-aged man appeared on the screen, the dome of his scalp was plainly visible due to a receding hairline. The page automatically scrolled up, the image was already burned into his memory.

NAME: Samuel Vincent Brown

AGE: 47

HEIGHT: 5"9'

WEIGHT: 205 lbs.

LOCATION: Houston, Texas

OBJECTIVES: kill Brown; retrieve external hard-disk in his bedroom safe

FEE: $650,000 USD

47 made a few telephone calls, arranging a flight to Dallas and a rental car. One thing the Franchise had taught the assassin was to be very careful. No longer did he fly directly to a target city, he flew to a nearby city and then drove. The flight and car were booked under entirely different aliases, requiring different disguises. Then he put his first disguise on and packed other items into his brief case.


	2. Chapter 2 Insertion

**A Death in the Night**

Chapter II – Insertion

It was a cool, crisp night. Dark and ominous clouds half-covered the pale crescent-moon. Agent 47 was sitting in his car, examining potential insertion points into the target area. The entire estate was surrounded by a tall iron fence, each iron rod tipped by a sharp spike. Naturally, because the world ever conspired to make such things difficult for assassins, the top of the fence also featured rather dangerous looking barbed-wire.

Fortunately, there was a back gate. Apparently it existed so that the hired guards could exit to pursue a suspect without having to either jump the fence or circle around to the main gate. Creeping up to it, the assassin found that, much to his frustration the gate was electronically locked. Staring at the key-card slot he heard a soft crunch of rubber-on-cement. Looking to his right, 47 saw a broad-shouldered man wearing a tan-shirted, black-pant guard suit. Nothing more than a stun-gun was evident on his surprisingly bare belt. The man was coming toward the gate.

Sensing an opportunity, 47 quietly shuffled into the shadows; eying the man intently as he fished a card out of his pocket and opened the gate. He was exiting the grounds and moving toward an area of trees and bushes. The man was relieving himself. He never got the chance to open his fly; however, as he quickly felt a sharp jab in his threat and then sweet blackness filled his vision. He would wake hours later with nothing more than a headache, and perhaps a cold as he would wake almost completely naked. 47 was careful to stash his suit in his car.

He walked through gate, and no other guards were in sight, so no one had spotted him as he took the unfortunate guard down. The estate layout was still fresh in his memory, and he stealthily made his way to a steel gutter which he knew would be securely bolted to the house, and able to carry his weight. He would have simply walked through the estate, but the other guards wouldn't recognize him and would his cover would be blown. His disguise would only work from a distance, or at least that is as much as he cared to trust it.

Finding the gutter, 47 quickly, though quietly made his up it until he arrived at the third floor. Mercifully a nearby window was already open so he slipped through it. He found himself in a bathroom. The room was rather nice, with a tile floor that looked convincingly like marble, and tastefully decorated walls. The molding had the appearance of gold, though it was likely something comparably inexpensive.

By the fresh scent of soaps and hot water he realized that someone had been in here recently, then he looked to his right and saw a half-naked woman…or rather a half-naked girl. About sixteen he decided. She was facing away from him, headphones pressed into her ears. Though she was looking in the mirror her eyes were closed as she silently sang along to whatever it was that she was listening to. 47 left the bathroom.

From there it was an easy matter to find the bedroom, as it was simply down the left-hand hall a right-turn around the corner, and second door on the left. A guard was standing at both corners of the hall. The guard down the right-hand side was lounging and snoring rather peacefully, the guard was leaning with his back pressed against the wall and, of all things, reading a newspaper whose headline featured the death of a man whom 47 had killed just the week before. Naturally, the authorities had no idea who the assassin was, though they did know it was an assassination. This would have been enough at the moment to have put 47 on edge, if he had been a regular human-being rather than a clone super-assassin.

He walked by the guard without the man even looking up. The assassin entered Brown's bedroom; and thankfully the man was single so he wouldn't have to worry about a spouse entering the room at an incredibly inconvenient moment, and hid in a closet. All he could do at this point was wait, everyone retired to their bedroom at some point, especially when they were wealthy and had servants to take care of them the way Brown does.


	3. Chapter 3 the Hit

**A Death in the Night**

Chapter III – The Hit

The long wait would have been nearly unbearable for most people, and it was times like this that 47 was grateful for Ort-Meyer's making him into a nearly emotionless killing machine, rather than burdening 47 with all sorts of emotions which the assassin regarded as potentially annoying and even dangerous in many situations. Which didn't keep him from wishing that he possessed at least _some_ emotions, at least emotions other than the mild annoyance which he felt at having to wait, according to his watch, some three hours in a closet?

He had spent the first two hours deciding just exactly how he was going to kill Mr. Samuel Vincent Brown. At first he had considered just injecting the man with poison, quick and painless. However, after waiting one full hour 47 had decided that he was too annoyed to be that merciful and so considered using the fiber wire as it would be rather painful and, while silent, would fill the mark with complete terror for the last few minutes of his life. Then a second full hour came and went and the assassin decided that even _that_ was too merciful for such a long wait.

Finally, after three long and incredibly boring hours, Samuel Brown walked into his bedroom and he was – as expected – completely alone. The man was wearing nothing but a robe and his long brown hair clung to his head, it was very wet. Brown's robe was scarlet with gold embroidery, obviously a very expensive article of clothing. 47 riled the robe's look into his expansive memory, determined to buy such a robe for himself if ever he retired.

The man sauntered over to the other end of his room, his back was to the closet and 47 slowly snuck out, making sure to stay directly behind his mark and out of site. Brown plopped down into his desk chair with a heavy thud and typed a password into his computer. The machine was extremely fast and 47 was able to see just why, probably anyhow, this man was wanted dead as his desktop image consisted of several naked young girls and boys doing things that people so young simply ought not to be doing. The assassin hated pedophiles, for no particular reason that he could fathom really, other maybe than that some of the most clearly vile people he had ever seen had been pedophiles.

47 pulled a Silverballer out from its hiding place in his pants. He shot Brown in the throat in such a way that it didn't kill him right away, but he the only noise he would be able to make would be nothing more than a bloody gurgle. The man fell to the floor clutching his throat from which blood was gushing surprisingly strongly. The assassin kneeled down. "This is for all the children you've corrupted…" were the soft words whispered from the mouth of the killer into the pervert's ear. 47 then shot the man's knees out and then a .45 slug into the man's groin. The job was finished with two bullets to the head. He didn't bother trying to hide or move the body, there was too much blood and he had no way of cleaning it.

The silent assassin turned briefly into the avenger of the innocent children, walked calmly out the door and back to the bathroom through which he had entered the house. Fortunately the young girl was no longer in the room, and the guard in the hall who had been reading the paper was actually sound a sleep – apparently having heard neither the suppressed gunshots nor the gurgling of his late employer. He made his exit, and then the unthinkable happened.


End file.
